The Greatest of These
by Vivien B
Summary: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” The final Apocolypse, a final escape plan, and finally, Crowley and Aziraphale together. PG-13 for angst and trauma and a minor amount of bad language and mild smut


The Greatest of These

By Vivien

Rating: R for angst and trauma (with a minor amount of smut)

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They are respectfully borrowed from Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett (and Daegaer, for fanon similarities.) This was written before my involvement in the online RPG MilliwaysBar began, but it is more beloved as a result of my involvement in such a wonderful community. Of course, it also languished for two months as a result of the writer's newfound RPG obsession, but here it is, finally.

Author'sNotes: Thanks to Akisawana and Lily22 for beta on the first section.

The Hosts were assembled for the Great War, the Last Battle, three rounds, one Fall, and no submission. And absolutely no last minute reprieves – not this time. After one too many false starts, both sides teemed with pent up hostility as they faced each other above the scarred planet Earth. The heavenly armies shone in a mass of brilliant white, waiting, and certain in their sense of purpose. The demon armies faced them, twisted visages snarling with hate.

Crowley looked around him at the seething assembly of demons waiting for word that the destruction could finally begin. . His side had specially designed weapons that had been honed over the last 6,000 years – since the first thwarted Armageddon. He was sure the Enemy had similar weapons of mass demonic destruction. He gripped his sword, gleaming with dark fire, in one hand and fumbled in his pocket for a small metal box with the other. Upon finding it, he patted it, threatening it under his breath to stay put no matter what happened

Crowley was terrified, but not as much as he'd been for the first Battle, the one that had started it all. He had a plan this time. He was done with playing by these idiotic, ineffable rules.

He was wearing his favorite, if thousands of years out of date, suit. Looking flawless was always a confidence builder for him. Especially when said suit was plated in every kind of invisible armor and divine weapon repelling curse known to demon kind.

The tension in the mass assemblage of armies wound up another notch at the sight of explosions on the barren planet below. The trumpets began blowing, and the commanders on both sides screamed orders. This was it.

With a fierce battle cry, Crowley beat his wings and plunged into the angelic front lines, beating down with his sword any angel who tried to stand in his way. His only thought was to find one angel in particular in this madness - the one angel who was probably having an even worse day than he.

Earth hadn't been the same during the last few millennia or so. Of course massive changes had always been difficult things to face when you remained unchanging (at least, on the surface) for thousands and thousands of years. Just when you'd gotten really used to a certain way of dressing or eating, along would come some mass societal change, or a pandemic, or a series of civilization destroying wars, and all you had gotten used to over the last few centuries would be thrown out the window.

Long after cars had ceased to be, Crowley had finally given up on the Bentley, though not without tears and tantrums and quite a large amount of liquor. It had been all Aziraphale could do to keep him from changing reality drastically to allow just a few more years of tearing down non-existent roads. The flying cars just weren't the same. But Aziraphale had surprised him by creating a little garage for it under the bookshop. Crowley visited it on a regular basis from then on, as hopeful as Aziraphale had once been about the gavotte that cars would eventually come back on the human scene.

Aziraphale's books had fared somewhat better, but even they had gone in and out of favor over the years. One of the things that had cast a pall over the last five hundred years was the fact that people had stopped reading and writing, preferring to simply inject knowledge mechanically. Aziraphale had blamed him at first though, truth be told (and it wasn't going to be Crowley who told it) he had had absolutely nothing to do with it. That had lead to their first fight since 4050. Things had gotten so bad between them that Crowley had decided to take another century long nap to avoid Aziraphale until he'd cooled off somewhat. Then he'd gone back to sleep for another twenty years rather than face Aziraphale's truly unrighteous fury at him for buggering off in a time of crisis. Luckily for Crowley, being on Hell's payroll for as long as he had, he'd accrued an inordinate amount of leave time.

Eventually Aziraphale had relented, chalking it up to the ineffable plan and they'd gotten back on friendly terms. But that hadn't made either if them feel any better about how things on the planet Earth were going.

Humans had changed for the worse at an elemental level. Physical changes they could understand, but it had been the inner changes that really depressed them. It was harder and harder to tempt them in interesting ways, Crowley had found. And Aziraphale had difficulties getting them to even leave their underground living cubicles, much less do good deeds and give glory to their Creator. Societies rose and fell, they knew from experience, but what had been occurring lately had not felt like the normal wax and wane of culture and civilization. It had felt more like the winding down of everything.

Earth had become bleak and boring, where once it had been a delight. The human race, once a vibrant, exciting conglomerate, was dying out – there were fewer babies born each year in the a small number of underground cities. The world itself was hideously scarred thanks to the constant attentions of War and Pestilence, both gearing up over the last few centuries for their final appearances. Trees had stopped growing ages ago, and the planet's wildlife consisted only of insects and a few of the hardier strains of vermin. Aziraphale had done what he could to ensure a few of the underground cities had saved some plants and animals, but people just didn't seem to care about them much anymore.

One recent Christmas – not that it was celebrated anymore on Earth – Crowley had surprised Aziraphale with a little piece of Shropshire that he'd been saving in a closet for the right time. Aziraphale had squealed with delight and hugged him. Crowley had then teased him unmercifully, and it had been a wonderful day. Wonderful days had become few and far between.

It had been no surprise then, when they each got the summons recalling them to their respective sides for the upcoming battle. They'd been kept out of the loop entirely this time round, so things were too far-gone for them to try stepping in. It was almost a relief. Almost.

Once you'd worked with someone for twelve thousand years you got used to his presence.

They'd both stalled their departures on the grounds of unfinished business long enough for a farewell dinner. They'd drunk their last hoarded bottles of wine and toasted all the fine restaurants they'd once known. That list alone kept them well into the night. Crowley had made the grave error of becoming maudlin and telling Aziraphale that he would miss him. Aziraphale had begun crying, and Crowley had had to take off his sunglasses and give him his best glare to make him quit. Sniffling, Aziraphale had told Crowley he would miss him as well, and that he considered him his dearest friend. Crowley had said something scathingly witty and distracted the angel by creating a chocolate dessert he'd always enjoyed, but hearing those words had made saying goodbye even harder.

They'd said goodbye to the wine, goodbye to the Bentley and the books, goodbye to the shop, which had been the one thing that stayed mostly the same during all this time through sheer effort of miraculous will on both their parts. They'd said goodbye to the Earth, walking down the ravaged landscape that had once been a city called London. But when the time came, they couldn't say goodbye to each other. They'd shaken hands and avoided looking into each other's eyes because it hurt too incredibly much to do anything else.

"Be careful, my dear," Aziraphale had said, standing beside him and looking up at the stars, at the ground, at anything but Crowley. "This War is going to be...." He had shuddered. "Just be careful. Stay back from the front lines as far as you can."

Crowley, whose mind had already started to grasp at plans, had replied, "You be careful, too. Watch for me on the Day." He'd taken off his sunglasses and dared to look at Aziraphale one last time. He decided that very moment that this would not be the last time they would be together. There had to be a way...

The concepts of friendship, trust, and hope should not exist in a demon's worldview. Neither should the concept of retirement. Crowley had never been one for technicalities. Six thousand more years of human experience had made him even less inclined to follow the rules than the last Armageddon – that is to say, not at all. Plus the Arrangement had become such that sometimes he did more miracles than temptations – Aziraphale was a very, very bad influence on him.

Once he'd returned to the deep dark horror of Hell, Crowley had discovered that the final battle was not immediately imminent. Apparently he and Aziraphale were wanted well out of the way this time. He'd been assigned a cubicle and he was supposed to be working on plans for the transition of power from humans to cockroaches for the dominion of the Earth. Instead he'd spent most of his time staring into space and plotting. It was during one of these mind-numbing days (or nights – in Hell there was no way of telling and labor laws did not apply) he'd thought of a way to escape. It would work, despite the odds; Crowley knew it. The trick would be staying alive long enough once the battle had started, and hoping that the angel would do similarly. From conversations around the forever empty office cooler, the weapons Hell was unveiling for this extravaganza were inspired by human designs. In other words, they were truly terrifying. He had learned as much as he could about them to be prepared for whatever might come.

If his plan didn't work, he'd make sure he was utterly destroyed in battle. There was no way he was changing from his nice human shape to that of a cockroach. He didn't think it would come to that; he was still an optimist and believed very much in the preservation of his own preferred existence.

He was due retirement. Twelve thousand years of work, even if much of it had been pleasurable, was still work. It was time he was his own demon. And he was bringing the angel with him, for what fun was retirement if one was alone? They were both sick of the ineffable plan, even if Aziraphale would never admit it. It was time to use some of that free will everyone always used to blather on about.

Over the millennia, Crowley and Aziraphale had found that they could sense where the other was with accuracy. Crowley didn't know how this worked and neither did he care; he just knew where to find Aziraphale whenever he needed him. As he ploughed through the viciously efficient angel army, he cast about for Aziraphale, desperate to find him as quickly as he could. He had narrowed down the search area by requesting to be in the squadron that took on Earth's heavenly agent, so he was close. He could almost feel his presence – that gentle, silly spirit that always reminded him of sunshine and green leaves, tea and books and other small pleasures.

A flaming sword of white light nicked his wing, and Crowley ducked and thrust his sword up blindly with great force, skewering the angel who'd attacked him. He watched in horrified fascination as murky threads of brown and green spread from the wound and twined under the pale skin. The angel slid from his sword and fell out of the sky. Crowley felt sick. He turned and scanned the crowded battle for Aziraphale, his sword at the ready. He was closer now, almost to him. If he could just see through the throngs of wings and shining raiment...

The demon forces were rising slowly but inexorably behind Crowley. He'd probably get a commendation for wading so recklessly into the battle, he thought with a hysterical giggle. He was sticky with silver blood, and his wing hurt, but he kept on. Finally, he glimpsed a familiar face. Aziraphale was with a small group of angels slowly being pressed backwards by the rush of demons. He was gripping the flaming sword in both hands, determination and fear on his face.

Crowley flew up and over the battle, beating his wings frantically to reach him. "Aziraphale!" he shouted. "AZIRAPHALE!" Aziraphale looked up and saw him. His face lit up, and for a moment Crowley thought the silly fool was waving to him. Then he correctly interpreted the gesture as the sign for "Up!" Crowley beat his wings and jumped over a screaming jet of holy water in the nick of time. He heard howls and the sizzling of demon flesh behind him.

If not for the distraction of the holy water Crowley would have gotten to Aziraphale in time to get him out. As it was, he could only watch as cursed blades whistled through the air from the specially designed cannon and sliced into the angels clustered round Aziraphale. For a moment, Crowley hoped Aziraphale had been spared, but then he saw the stunned expression on his face. Crowley watched as Aziraphale closed his eyes and fell out of the sky.

"NO!" Crowley screamed. He plummeted, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale's falling form as he hurtled downwards. The earth was rushing up towards him at what seemed an impossible speed, but somehow he managed to catch up to Aziraphale just in time. He scooped the angel's limp body into his arms and landed hard on the ground. The brown and green lines of poison had almost spread too far for any healing to work, but Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale's wounded side and sent forth a burst of healing energy. It would take far more healing to actually make him whole and well, but it was a start. He would never admit it, but healing was something with which he'd become surprisingly proficient, thanks to the Arrangement and all the little good deeds that had mounted up over the years. The poisonous vines stopped twining under Aziraphale's skin, and Crowley fished out the metal box. It was attached to a chain that he looped around both of their necks.

"C-crowley?" whispered Aziraphale, his eyes still closed.

"Yeah, it's me," said Crowley. His fingers, slick with blood, were slipping on the small buttons of the box. "I'm getting us out of here." He threatened the box one last time for good measure, said a quick incantation, and the angel and the demon vanished from the Earth.

When Crowley next opened his eyes, he saw a darkened landscape thrown into stark relief by two bright moons shining in a clear, starry sky. He felt adrift and disoriented, as if he'd been torn away from some larger entity he'd been a part of for thousands of years. Elation bubbled up from deep within him. The contraption had worked!

His elation was short lived. He heard Aziraphale whimper faintly. Crowley gently eased the angel down on the sand upon which they'd landed, removing the armor that had been so easily breached. Aziraphale looked so pale, so fragile in the light of the moons, his white robes stained with dark silver blood. The next several hours would require all of Crowley's energy to focus on restoring Aziraphale to wellness, and even then, he wasn't sure he could repair the damage. The weapon that had pierced him had been designed to destroy more than a corporeal body.

He dispelled all notions of failure; he relied only on his confidence that things would be fine. Placing his hand upon the angel's chest, Crowley flinched from the sensation. The angel's skin was freezing. He pressed his hand firmly down and sent all the healing energy he possessed coursing into Aziraphale. With the other hand, he examined the wound, probing it as gently as he could. He winced when Aziraphale moaned, but there was nothing for it. He managed to get his fingers around the blade enough to pull it out of the angel's body. The angelic glow that emanated from Aziraphale brightened somewhat, but it was still very dim.

Crowley placed his hand over the bleeding wound and with a wave watched the skin mend and close. With another wave his hand was clean and dry again.

"Aziraphale," he said, "Aziraphale, can you hear me?"

Aziraphale made a faint noise and his eyes opened slightly.

"You're safe," said Crowley, grinning a bit madly. "We're safe. You're going to be all right."

"Cold," Aziraphale said with some effort. "So cold."

The tendrils of poison hadn't retreated from where they'd spread, but as they'd not advanced, Crowley had hope. He carefully picked the angel up and cradled him on his lap, as a human might a child. He wrapped his arms and then his wings around Aziraphale and sent forth the heat from his body to insulate him against the cold. It was like holding ice at first, but soon the demonic heat began to thaw the angel's skin somewhat.

Crowley didn't even think about the discomfort the cold caused him. He sent the healing power through his hands, repeating "be whole and well" as a mantra, whispering the words over and over against the cool skin of the angel's forehead. No one would see, no one would know. He would never have to make reports or hide the truth anymore.

Aziraphale slowly became aware of bright sunlight through his closed eyelids. He also slowly became aware of a warm, sleeping body lying against him and soft feathers brushing against his back. He opened his eyes and a wave of pain crashed down upon him as he floated back into consciousness. He had never been sick before, so he had no idea what was happening to him, but it was the most dreadful thing he'd ever experienced. Weakly, he moved his head, nuzzling against the neck of whoever was embracing him. He caught a slight hint of sandalwood and ancient spices wafting up from the smooth skin and knew that at least he was with Crowley. He tried to remember what had happened.

The battle had been in full swing, and he'd been terrified, but ready to fight. He hated bloodshed, but he'd been doing what was expected of him as well as he could. He'd heard Crowley's voice calling his name, and then everything blurred into biting cold and sickening pain. There was disorientation and a gaping sense of loss that Aziraphale couldn't contemplate writhing inside him. Where were they? What on Earth had happened?

"Crowley? Crowley, wake up."

Crowley came awake with a start. "Bugger it," he snarled. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He stirred, smoothing his hands over Aziraphale's cool back before slowly sitting up, bringing the angel with him. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," said Aziraphale, limp in Crowley's embrace. "What happened?"

"You were hit with one of our... one of Hell's angel destroying weapons. You were poisoned pretty badly. I'm taking care of it."

"Where are we? This doesn't feel like any place I've ever been before."

"It's not. Quiet now. You need to rest and I need to concentrate." Crowley looked round him, and was glad that his sunglasses were still covering his eyes. The sky was bright with a fierce blueness, and the sun's light reflected off the massive body of water that lay before them. Crowley couldn't tell whether it was an ocean, or a large lake. It was beautiful though, with sparkling blue waves tinged purple that lapped onto the white sand. Crowley could have basked quite happily in the sun all day, but he figured that might not be the best thing for Aziraphale's pale skin. He looked over his shoulder and saw a forest behind him of tall, graceful trees.

"I'm going to move you into the shade. Up you get," he said.

"I can't..." gasped Aziraphale, "hurts..."

Crowley gathered the angel in his arms and carried him into the shade of the trees. He should probably create a shelter, but he was so mentally tired already that he didn't want to risk not having enough energy to continue the healing process. The trees would have to do.

Settling down again on the ground, he drew the angel into his arms and held him closely. "You're going to be all right, you hear me? Or I'm not going to be pleased at all."

Aziraphale nodded weakly. He was scared, and something felt out of place inside his head, but he trusted Crowley. "My feet are cold," he said.

He heard Crowley chuckle, but then his legs were pulled more closely towards Crowley's body. The soft tickle of feathers closed round him like a blanket, and he was able to think more clearly as Crowley's hands conducted healing warmth through him.

That was when he realized exactly what he was missing.

He hesitated as the terrifying words formed in his mind, and then he pulled back to face Crowley. "Did I Fall?"

"You fell, but I caught you," said Crowley with a ghost of his old smirk.

Aziraphale's eyes went wide with horror and surprise.

"From the sky, Aziraphale. You fell from the battle and I caught you. Now hush, you need to rest, and I need to focus on making you better."

"But... but I... I don't think I can feel the Presence, Crowley."

"I said hush," said Crowley. He placed one hand over Aziraphale's forehead and sent calming thoughts towards the angel while clenching his jaw tightly. If Aziraphale screwed up his daring rescue by working himself into a frenzy and then not healing, he would kill him.

Aziraphale calmed down gradually and sagged against Crowley. He was overcome with another wave of pain and chill and sighed with relief when Crowley's warm arms wrapped around him. He laid his head on Crowley's shoulder and let sleep take him.

Crowley waited till he was sure Aziraphale was asleep, and then reached up his hand to stroke Aziraphale's face. He'd been relieved to be cut off from Hell, but he remembered the desolation of being denied the warm glow of the Presence when he'd first Fallen. He genuinely hoped this wouldn't be the case for Aziraphale, but if he had severed his connection with Hell, it would make sense if Aziraphale's connection to Heaven had been cut, as well.

"Well," he murmured to himself, "the first major flaw in your brilliant plan. Congratulations, Crowley." Then with a sigh, he went back to work expelling the poison corrupting Aziraphale's body with a vengeance. If he couldn't heal it out, he'd threaten it out.

Aziraphale came awake with a start and looked around him, confused and frightened. He was wrapped in warm blankets atop a soft palette, in what seemed to be a canvas tent. It was a large tent, the kind adventuring colonists would hire for African safaris back in the long ago days on Earth. The tent flap was open slightly and waving in a gentle night breeze. Beyond the flap, he could just make out a beach and large body of water shimmering in the bright moonlight.

'Where are we?' he thought miserably. 'What in Heaven's name did Crowley do?'

At the mention of Heaven he went still and concentrated hard. The Presence of the Lord had once suffused his being. It had been a white noise in the background of his mind – a constant, steady feeling of deep, unconditional love and lightness. Now he could only catch glimmers of it, like a radio signal that couldn't quite come into the receiver. It was upsetting; he felt adrift at sea, but at the same time it was strangely freeing. He had questioned the ineffable plan quietly for so long... Now it felt as if he could think whatever he wanted, without guilt or fear of repercussion. It was a dizzying thought, and a frightening one.

Aziraphale turned his head to the side. Crowley was asleep on a palette next to him, his hand resting on Aziraphale's arm. Seeing him sparked other frightening thoughts. What lengths did Crowley go to in order to get them out of the battle? He couldn't fathom how Crowley had managed it, and he wasn't sure why saving him had even been on Crowley's agenda. He didn't know whether he wanted to rant and rail at the demon for his rash actions or cling to him for comfort. Deciding against either, he carefully climbed out from under blankets, placing Crowley's hand softly down upon his own palette. He needed fresh air and a place to think.

Slowly he walked out of the tent. He was still very sore, and every step was difficult. The sand he walked upon was cool to his feet, and the night breeze was clean and refreshing. He stopped and looked up into the night sky of this strange place. Unfamiliar stars shone brightly in the multitudes, and Aziraphale took a deep breath of the fresh air. He didn't need to breathe, but it was a pleasant sensation. He'd not been able to experience fresh air on Earth for a very long time. He missed the Earth, or at least the Earth of his fondest memories, so very much. Heaven was a peaceful, beautiful place, but it had not felt like home.

There was a faint glow emanating from his angelic presence. If he were truly a fallen angel, he wouldn't have a halo. How could he have one now? He looked down at his body. Dark bruises twined under the skin on his arms. Lifting up his robes, he saw bruises on his legs, as well. He imagined the dark marks covered the rest of his skin, if the aching pains were any indication. This was so strange. His angelic body shouldn't have taken such an injury, especially with the healing he knew Crowley had provided him. He should go wake Crowley and demand some answers. He should manifest some candles and chalk and open a portal to Heaven, try to find out what had happened in the battle. He should... just sit down for a moment. He was so tired.

He closed his eyes and sank down to the sand. There was small part of him that was relieved to be here, no matter what had occurred. The saddest thing he'd ever had to do was leave the Earth, diminished though it had become. In Heaven, he'd been closer to the Presence than he had been in a long while, and that had been a joyous thing. But he'd had no friends there. A few of the guardian angels would chat with him amiably enough, but the other angels, when they deigned to speak to him, had regarded him with an unpleasant combination of envy and condescension. When he had walked into a room, he often had had the unpleasant sensation that conversations had stopped abruptly upon his entrance. He had missed his books and favorite foods, but most of all, he'd missed Crowley. Crowley had never whispered behind his back; if he had wanted to say something mean about him, he had always had the decency to say it to his face.

Aziraphale laughed at the irony of the situation. He was an angel who hadn't been happy in Heaven because his dearest friend, a demon, wasn't there. It sounded ridiculous and blasphemous, but it was the truth.

They'd been a team, hadn't they? He'd been so proud of Crowley for all the good deeds he'd done as part of the Arrangement. And he'd let Crowley know it as often as he could manage because it was so fun to watch the demon bristle and deny it. If Aziraphale was forced to admit it, filling in for Crowley was, well, sometimes it had been rather enjoyable. Crowley had never given him really horrible tasks to do – usually he had been responsible for minor temptations of sloth, gluttony, greed, and, occasionally, lust, in which case, Aziraphale always had added the element of love. He'd been terribly upset when that had made things much more difficult for the humans involved, but Crowley had always been quite pleased with the ensuing chaos.

Once they'd both been recalled, he'd missed Crowley desperately, and had worried about him even more. If he had not been happy in Heaven, he couldn't imagine how miserable Crowley had been in Hell.

He was dreadfully confused. He was an angel, designed to serve the Lord and to glory in Him. Now he could barely feel His Presence. He should be devastated. So why did he feel something surprisingly like euphoria bubbling up deep inside him? He hugged his knees closely to him and looked out upon the water, lost in his thoughts. "Oh dear," he sighed.

After some time had passed, he heard footsteps in the sand. Crowley sat down quietly beside him. Neither said anything for several moments.

Finally Crowley ventured in a quiet, neutral voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," Aziraphale said. "What have you done, Crowley?"

"Sssaved both our ssskins, that's what. I thought you'd be pleasssed."

"Where are we? How... What have you done? Why?"

Crowley sighed in frustration. "Look at it as an early retirement. We've worked hard for it."

"Crowley, what did you do?" said Aziraphale firmly. "I want a straight answer, dear boy. Did you open a dimensional portal, or did you tear the fabric of space and time, or what? Because if you did, They'll find us easily enough, your people or mine."

"I'm not that stupid," said Crowley, looking quite pleased with himself. "Remember that bloke back in the 3060's? The one who discovered the mathematical solution to universe?"

"Oh yes," said Aziraphale. "That was the first time we both had the same orders to carry out. Well, at least the same orders in essence. I'm so glad we found such a restful, pleasant asylum for him afterwards."

"Well, it just so happened that when we were taking care of the fellow, I noticed a few small things laying about his laboratory. We had to destroy the place anyway, so I pocketed a few little things. One of them was this." He handed the metal box to Aziraphale. "It's a human device to open passageways in space and time. So if anyone goes looking for who opened the portal, all they'll find are traces of human technology, and nothing angelic or demonic. Besides that, I, um, I used a little curse upon our departure. Just a small one."

"What kind of curse?" Aziraphale said, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Oh, nothing really," said Crowley, and he mumbled a few more words.

"What was that, my dear," said Aziraphale. "I didn't quite catch exactly how you damned me to this place."

"It was a modification curse. Any supernatural entity who comes looking for us on Earth will think they've found our bodies," said Crowley, annoyed. "And I didn't bloody well damn you anywhere. This is a great place, and my plan went perfectly. If you can't get that through your thick, angelic skull, then I don't know what to tell you." He rose to his feet crossing his arms and turning his back on Aziraphale. It had seemed like such a flawless plan.

"Why, Crowley?" Aziraphale said. "How dare you do something like this, without my consent? Without even telling me? We are going to get in so much trouble."

Crowley wheeled around, his yellow eyes flashing. "Do you even realize what happened to you? Do you remember the screams all around you, angel? The pain when you were skewered?"

Aziraphale said nothing.

"If I hadn't been there... Do you want to know what would have happened to you? The poison would have destroyed your corporeal body, but that's not the least of it. The weapons were cursed to ensnare an angel's essence and drag it down to a specially prepared pit in Hell. The demons in charge of the pit have been planning extra special torments for all your lot for a _very_ long time. They were most eager to get started. You might not be a part of Heaven anymore, Aziraphale, but I damn well couldn't let you be a part of Hell."

Crowley was shaking with rage. There was nothing else he could have done, save give up, and that had never been his style. If the angel couldn't forgive him for what he'd done, that was his problem.

The anger faded from Aziraphale's eyes. He stared out across the sparkling water. "I can barely feel Him, Crowley. What is the point of my existence if not to do His work?"

Stepping a little closer, Crowley said, "Not being connected to Hell is a relief I never thought I'd experience. But I remember... I know how awful it is for you. I'm s..." He hesitated. Being a demon meant never having to say you're sorry. But now he could make his own rules. He took a deep breath. "I apo..." Damn, this was harder than he thought it would be. "I wish it wasn't like this, Aziraphale, I really do. I thought... well, I didn't think. I just wanted us both out of there."

A few silent moments passed. Finally Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. "Help me up?" he said softly, offering Crowley his hand.

Crowley took it, and he helped the angel to his feet.

"Do you know where we are?" Aziraphale asked.

"Haven't a clue," said Crowley. "But it seems quite nice. Wait until you see it in the daytime."

Aziraphale smiled. "He'll know where we are, Crowley. He created everything, even this place."

"Then let Him come," said Crowley. "Let Him deal with us Himself, instead of hiding behind the bureaucrats."

"You shouldn't talk like that, dear boy," said Aziraphale.

"I can talk anyway I please," said Crowley, smirking. "Now come on, let's get you back to bed. You're still not well."

"Crowley?"

"What?"

"Thank you for saving me."

"I saved you for thoroughly selfish reasons. I didn't fancy retirement with just myself for company."

"Retirement, eh," Aziraphale said in a wistful voice. "I never thought I'd be allowed to do that. It does sound rather appealing, doesn't it?"

"No more reports to write, no more quotas to fill, days spent doing whatever we damn well please," said Crowley.

"Really, my dear, you needn't tempt me," scolded Aziraphale. "I mean, the deed's done, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I know you," said Crowley. "You always need a little tempting to help quiet your conscience."

Aziraphale laughed. He let Crowley lead him back to the tent. He didn't think he was tired enough to sleep, but funnily enough, he slipped into blackness the moment his head hit the soft pillow.

Aziraphale woke again with the sun shining brightly. He sat up and stretched, feeling physically much better. His arms still had yellowish brown smudges of bruising, but he wasn't nearly as sore. His spirit was somewhat lifted, now that much of the pain was gone. He said a prayer and that made him feel even better. Humans had communed one way with the Lord for millennia, so he supposed he could, too.

As he gingerly got out of bed, he wondered where Crowley was. He walked out of the tent and onto the hot white sand of the beach. Blinking his eyes, he took in the scene before him. Wherever they were, this _was_ a beautiful place. He thought it would be uncomfortably hot until he caught a cool breeze coming off the sparkling water. If nothing else, at least they could enjoy their exile until their respective Bosses caught up with them. And Aziraphale was fairly certain that They would, eventually. He didn't want to think about what would happen after.

He spied a figure further down on the beach, stretched out on a beach towel. He could just make out a large glass in the figure's hand. Aziraphale smiled and shook his head. Retirement, indeed. The ridiculous serpent had a head start on him. He waved his hand and sandals appeared on his feet. He walked towards the sunbathing demon.

Crowley sat up when he heard Aziraphale approach. He took a sip of his perfectly chilled piña colada and waved to the angel.

"Aziraphale, turn down your bloody halo," said Crowley. "You're brighter than the sun."

Aziraphale softened the angelic light and sat down upon a newly materialized beach towel. "Good morning to you, too."

"Good afternoon, more like. Feeling better?"

"Much. I think I've slept more in the past few days than I ever did during the past twelve thousands years."

"It's addicting. You'll see," smiled Crowley. "Why don't you slip into something more comfortable? Did you have to turn in your human form? They forgot to ask for mine. There's nothing like human skin to truly enjoy the sun."

"I can see that," said Aziraphale. "You're certainly exposing enough of yours." He closed his eyes and imagined his old body; thankfully Heaven had forgotten to ask for his as well. When he opened his eyes, his familiar shape was back, entirely clothed.

"Oh, Aziraphale, ever modest. My swim trunks aren't nearly as indecent as they could be." He lay back down and put his hands behind his head. "This is the life." He glanced at Aziraphale and gestured. "You're not wearing the tie. We're on permanent vacation. No ties allowed."

"About that, Crowley," said Aziraphale, waving the tie back in place, "This is all well and good, but what happens when your people or mine find us?"

Crowley sighed an extremely exasperated sigh. "They're not going to find us, and they're not our people anymore. We're our own people. No more thwarting or tempting, unless it suits us. What do say, angel – up for being tempted? Want me to manifest you a drink?"

"Oh, well, I am rather thirsty." He took a large glass from Crowley's outstretched hand, noting that it had not one but three colorful umbrellas as well as skewers of maraschino cherries and pineapples. "Thank you, dear boy, just the way I like my tropical drinks." He sipped the drink and made a small noise of immense pleasure when the sweet liquid hit his taste buds. Human taste buds were something he missed dearly whenever he was in his angelic form. He reclined back on the towel, closing his eyes and soaking in the sun while the alcohol hit his bloodstream in a most glorious fashion. "Yum," he sighed.

"Are you hungry?"

"Mmm, yes – I'm famished," Aziraphale replied.

They both sat up and gleefully went about the task of creating a few of their favorite h'ors dourves. In between mouthfuls of pâté, fresh French bread, and stuffed mushrooms, Aziraphale said, "Shouldn't we be worried about the attention we call with each little manifestation here? I mean, that kind of thing is as good as a neon beacon with giant blinking letters reading 'Oh look, supernatural beings here' pointed right towards us."

"Er, yeah, I had thought of that, actually," said Crowley reluctantly. "But I'm betting we're so far away that we needn't worry too much."

"But what if we're not, my dear," said Aziraphale. "We'll be in more trouble than we ever imagined if we get caught now."

"Look, if anyone comes looking for us, we'll use the box to zip somewhere else."

"Oh, lovely, eternity on the run. Sounds delightfully relaxing."

Crowley glared at Aziraphale. "I suppose you've got a better idea?"

"Well, no," said Aziraphale. "I mean, we might be able to beg for mercy from my side, but your side..."

"Heaven or Hell, Aziraphale, not your side or my side," said Crowley. "Besides it's not going to happen. They're going to be too busy sorting each other out to bother with tracking us down. And that's only if they figure out we didn't destroy each other back in the battle."

Aziraphale finished his drink and made a new one. He might as well be drunk as think of what would happen if Heaven or Hell came calling. If Heaven found them, he could rightfully claim he'd been kidnapped, and he would perhaps be able to vouch for Crowley's character, but he doubted the demon would go along with that plan. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as they used to say so long ago. And it really was a lovely place.

"When I'm feeling up to it, we should take a look around," he said. "See what else is on this nice little world."

"See, now you're getting into the spirit," said Crowley. "I knew it was just a matter of time. Who knows, maybe there are other life forms here somewhere. Life forms with restaurants or theatres or books."

"Oh, that would be lovely," said Aziraphale, his eyes glazing over at the prospect of holding a book in his hands again.

Crowley grinned. "A toast," he said, holding out his glass to the angel. "To free will and clever demons."

Aziraphale clinked his glass to Crowley's. "To old friends," he said.

After a few drinks, Aziraphale stopped worrying about what might happen next. He also stopped trying to put his tie back in place whenever Crowley waved it away. Whatever might come next, at least he was in good company.

The next few weeks were by far the happiest Crowley had ever spent in human shaped form. He and Aziraphale had stayed at the beach for several days, relaxing and sipping drinks while waiting for the angel to fully heal. Then one day Aziraphale had spread his wings and said, "I should like to see more of this place."

They'd explored quite a bit, seeking out the mountains in the distance and plotting the courses of the rivers that flowed into the great lake they'd first landed beside. Aziraphale beamed in delight with every waking moment of discovery, comparing the flora and fauna to things they'd once known. Sometimes his commentary grew a bit excessive, at which point Crowley would remind himself there was no reason to strangle the angel after going through so much trouble rescuing him. In truth it would have taken a great deal of torture before Crowley would have admitted he actually enjoyed hearing Aziraphale prattle on and on and on about their new world.

The canvas safari tent had been traded for a homey one-room cottage. They created it together, bickering and one-upping each other every moment until they had something that was a very odd conglomeration of angelic and demonic taste. Since the house was only used for sleeping, it worked out well enough.

One night Crowley was startled awake by a noise. They had just returned after a long flight earlier in the afternoon, and after a fine dinner, they'd both fallen into an exhausted sleep. He wasn't sure whether Aziraphale was still healing, or whether he had discovered the addictiveness of sleep, but the angel had slumbered every night for several nights in a row now.

Crowley looked about him, his eyes piercing the unusually dark night. Both moons were new, and the shadows were deeper than he'd seen so far. He could discern nothing within the cottage, so he slithered silently outside to check for heavenly, or hell spawn, intruders. He found nothing, much to his great relief, but a furry nocturnal creature scuttling about for food. Remembering to breathe again, he crept back into the tent.

It was at that moment that Crowley became aware of a curious sensation within him. He glanced over at Aziraphale to make sure his sleep had not been disturbed. He didn't glance away for several minutes; he watched the sleeping angel as a shivery, overwhelming surge of emotion flooded through him. He gazed at Aziraphale's peaceful face, noting his long pale lashes and the mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles. If anyone Above or Below attempted to harm a hair on Aziraphale's blond head, Crowley would make them wish they'd never received a material body. It was an unsettling thing, to feel so strongly for someone else, but Crowley assumed it was part of friendship. He'd never dared to classify their relationship as friendship, not even is his thoughts; on Earth it would have been too dangerous. Aziraphale was just Aziraphale and he was always there for Crowley, whether he needed him or not.

Oddly though, as he sat there beside the sleeping angel, he was a bit surprised to realize that Aziraphale was beautiful. He'd never really thought of his physical appearance before. The idea caused a peculiar flutter in his stomach. He shrugged it off. As an employee of Hell, he'd become expert at shrugging off any thoughts that bothered him in any way.

Over the next days though, he noticed that strange surge of emotion along with more unsettling flutters of the stomach often when he was in Aziraphale's presence. And since they were together most of the time, it was a bit disturbing. He couldn't even name the strange emotions he was experiencing, since he'd never felt this way before. But he was damn sure not going to let it ruin his fun. He chalked it up as a side effect of not being altogether evil in an angel's direct presence. He neglected to dwell on the fact that he'd already been not altogether evil in the presence of an angel for quite some time.

Once he had recovered from his wounds, Aziraphale had begun enjoying himself. It didn't really take much arm-twisting from Crowley to be tempted into relaxing and having a nice time. There was still guilt and fear lurking about the angel's conscience until he decided he could technically still do his official job. If Crowley did anything terrible, he would thwart it. Luckily there didn't seem to be any people around to tempt. He could, however, encourage Crowley to do any number of good deeds, such as providing him drinks with extra umbrellas and fruit skewers. And since Aziraphale was a believer in doing one's duty, even with no superiors present, it behooved him to allow Crowley to tempt him, so that Crowley was technically doing his job. It made perfect sense, and it also made Crowley happy, which couldn't be a bad thing for a demon. So really, his function as an angel was intact.

Besides, this all had to be part of the ineffable plan. However else could Crowley and he have escaped in such a ridiculous way? Maybe they were meant to end up here for some purpose as yet unknown. In the meantime, Aziraphale was having a lovely time.

This world was beautiful; lush vegetation, gorgeous flowers, and dear little animals. He savored every new discovery. After a few centuries on an Earth devoid of beauty, this place was, well, like paradise. He knew he did go on a bit, chattering to Crowley about every little flower and bird, but if Crowley wanted him to stop, he would say so. He was proud that the demon was learning such patience.

It was strange, though, as the days slipped into weeks, how unusual twinges of emotion would surprise him. Sometimes when he saw Crowley smile or fly towards him or simply bask in the sun, he felt odd yearning sensations. It was similar to how in the old days he would experience an overwhelming desire to get hold of a rare book of prophecy. It was as if he wanted something, he couldn't name it. Whenever this happened, he usually shrugged it off; when you'd served the ineffable plan as long as he had, you learned to ignore anything that troubled you. It would be explained one way or another at some point.

The nights were becoming cooler, and a seasonal change appeared to be looming in the immediate future. One chilly night they built a bonfire on the beach from scratch upon Aziraphale's insistence. After several poorly conceived attempts to begin a fire by rubbing sticks together, Crowley impatiently waved them into flame. He let the angel believe it was his wilderness skills that achieved the cheerful blaze. Aziraphale was quite smug about his newfound abilities, much to Crowley's amusement.

They spent the rest of the evening drinking copious amounts of wine. They went through a roll call of many of their favorite vintages. By the time the moons were straight above them, Aziraphale was burbling on about some saint or other he'd inspired once upon a time. Crowley couldn't help notice how happy the angel looked, and how the light of the moons shone on his hair. That now familiar shivery feeling shimmered through him, and he responded by changing the wine in his glass to a smooth, potent whiskey.

"S'what I'm sayin' is this," said Aziraphale, well into his bottle of Chateau Lafitte.

After a pause Crowley glanced over his sunglasses, yellow eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Well? What?"

"Hmm?" said the angel. "Oh, s'all part of the inef... infena... His plan, dear boy."

"What is?" said Crowley, annoyed. Leave it to Aziraphale to bring up Heaven yet again.

"M'serious, Crowley," the angel continued brightly. "Nothing else 'splains how we got here."

"I got s' here, you nitwit," said Crowley.

"Well, I still think s'all part of the plan," said Aziraphale.

"Rubbish," snarled Crowley. "The plan dunn't apply to us, not anymore. We're out o' the equation."

Aziraphale smiled beatifically and took a drink, "Whatever you say, dear."

"Stop smilin' like that," said Crowley, his head starting to pound.

"Like what?"

"Like you're a bloody angel talkin' down to a sssstupid demon," Crowley said sharply.

Aziraphale stopped smiling. "M'sorry, Crowley," he said, reaching out to pat the demon's hand. "Didn't mean it like that. Just meant this s'all part of it. We're here for reasons."

"Oh yes, and what reasons'ld those be," said Crowley, rolling his eyes and filling his glass with more whiskey. Once the angel was on a roll, there was no shutting him up till he'd had his say.

Aziraphale beamed. "We're here to make you good!"

Crowley goggled at the angel.

"No, really," said Aziraphale cheerily. "You've no people to tempt, you've been so nice to me – s'all part of the plan. N' it's working!"

"Bloody well isn't, you daft git," said Crowley, not knowing whether to laugh or to rip the angel's throat out. "I'm not good. I'm a demon."

"Oh, yes, technically," said Aziraphale. "But you got right clever at doing my good deeds there at the end. And the whole savin' my life bit. Thass not demonic behavior, is it?"

It was definitely time to change the subject. "Maybe the plan is to test you, angel. Maybe we're here so I can make you bad. Did you think o' that possibility. Quite a few sins you've racked up since our little 'Rangement started. Maybe this is one big temptation 'n you're Fallin' as we speak"

Aziraphale blanched.

"Yeah, don't like hearin' that possibility, eh," said Crowley, not unkindly. "It'd be just like Him to set you up." He winced and the alcohol left his system.

"Can't be, Crowley," said Aziraphale, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why not? Let's examine the facts, shall we? Seven deadly sins – let's see where you stand on those since you've been here, and, if we really want to look closely, in the past thousand years or so. Gluttony... well, you've got that covered, I recall you nicked the last éclair this morning after eating three on your own. And that was no surprise, angel – why do you think whenever I ordered or manifested food for us, I always got enough for a small army? Sloth... sleeping every night now, lazing about in the day, shoving off your tasks on me so you had more time to read– and don't pretend you never did that. Pride... humph, oh, that doesn't apply to you at all, Wilderness Scout. Greed... ha, Exhibit A, your bookstore and your hoard of rare, expensive books. Anger... you've ranted and railed at me more than once, and not always over your righteous tasks, as I recall. And if the look in your eyes tells me anything, then you've got a fair amount of that sin building up right now. Shall I go on? Lust... well, in that area you might be free of sin."

"There was a temple priestess in Babylon once," Aziraphale moaned, his head in his hands. He sounded very much like he was trying not to cry.

"Really? Was there?" said Crowley, amazed.

Aziraphale stood up shakily, the effects of the alcohol gone. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said in a quiet voice. He turned and walked down the shore.

"Oh shit," said Crowley, and he threw his glass into the fire where it shattered. Why did he go on the attack like that? Wasn't the whole point to not worry about old roles and expectations? He leapt up and ran after the angel.

He caught up to him quickly. "Leave me alone," said Aziraphale miserably.

"Aziraphale, I'm sorry, alright," Crowley said. "You struck an old nerve, I guess. I didn't mean to upset you." He awkwardly put an arm around the angel's shoulders. "We can be whatever we want now. If I want to be good or bad, or if you want to be, it's not part of anyone's plan. And we've both known for a long, long time that good and bad are just names for sides – we don't have sides anymore."

A few silent minutes followed, punctuated only by the waves lapping against the shore and quiet angel sniffling. "You said you were sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale said finally. "Don't think I ever heard those words come from your lips."

"Yeah, well, it's the free will, and all. Come on; let's go back to the fire. I'll manifest some marshmallows to roast." He slid his arm down to the angel's back to guide him back. That ridiculous shivery feeling was back, slipping up and down his spine. Maybe it was remorse – that was certainly an emotion he was unfamiliar with, and he _was_ sorry he'd gone after Aziraphale like that.

"I'm sorry, too," said Aziraphale. "It's just..." The warmth of Crowley's hand on his back distracted him. That vague sense of wanting washed over him again.

"You're good, and you want everyone else to be like you, because you're happy," Crowley said, finishing his thought.

Aziraphale smiled. "I guess that's it. Um, do you remember those little treats we tried in America once? With the chocolate and the, what were they called?"

"Graham crackers?"

"Yes! Let's have those."

"You glutton."

"Wicked Serpent."

"Damn right," said Crowley, grinning.

"I'll try to work on the gluttony and sloth and all," said Aziraphale, his forehead creasing with concern.

"Whatever for?" asked Crowley. "Just be you, Aziraphale, and stop worrying about good and bad and Heaven and Hell. Now, no more about this, or I'll be forced to kill you."

Aziraphale laughed and put everything out of his mind but the anticipation of roasted marshmallows over melting chocolate and having someone who knew him so very well to sit beside on a beautiful night.

Knowing that the weather might change any moment, Aziraphale and Crowley took advantage of one hot day in the midst of a string of cooler ones to visit a waterfall they'd noticed from on high. The water fell from a great height to settle in a clear pool bordered by boulders before trickling into a gurgling stream. The pool took on the purplish tint of all the waters on the planet and glittered like a jewel. There was a small clearing by the pool, and on the other side, a steep cliff. The trees edging the clearing were tall with waving fronds – almost like willows, but for their broader, denser leaves.

Aziraphale found the setting to be an inspiration and commenced to point out as many of its beauties to Crowley as possible until Crowley produced a hefty picnic basket to shut him up. They ate a delicious lunch, and sun still high in the sky, decided to spend the rest of the day there. Aziraphale fancied a swim.

Crowley watched him with amusement from the banks where he was taking one more bask. Aziraphale paddled about the pool, stopping every once in a while to burble on about some interesting rock or water insect or bird flying by. The angel was wearing a swimming costume that had been the height of daring around the turn of the 20th century, the mid 2500's, and for a brief time in 4654. His silly little angel...

Sitting bolt upright at that thought, emotion asserting itself inside his chest. He finally figured out what these unsettling spates of feelings were all about.

Demons aren't meant to feel love. It's not part of their job description, and, in fact, would be quite an impediment to most of their duties. Lust was fine, and camaraderie was okay, to a point, but love? Out of the question.

Crowley was not bound by Hell's rules any longer. And he realized as his stomach turned all wiggly and his heart pounded faster, that this love had been waiting a long, long time for a chance to be expressed. He'd broken all the rules by admitting to himself that he was fond of the angel back on Earth. Being Aziraphale's friend had felt nice. Loving him felt magnificent.

He remembered how they'd gone round and round with St. Paul back in pre-Arrangement days. Aziraphale would encourage the man to write some noble phrase, and Crowley would lob a temptation right back to induce him to say something stupid like keep women quiet in church, and on and on it went. The angel had triumphed in that little match of wits, resulting in an inordinate amount of paperwork and extra work for Crowley to tempt Paul just that much harder. Recollection of certain words that had once made him gnash his teeth in frustration at their power came back to him now: "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Crowley got it now. He understood why humans had allowed this emotion to buoy up their short, miserable, lives. This giddiness and sense of floating was worth any amount of pain and anguish. He hadn't felt this full of light since before he'd started listening to his stupid, disgruntled friends in the Sliver City all those ages ago. Well, Aziraphale would never have to know. He would stay quiet about this. There was no need to startle the angel or take a chance on ruining their time here.

Aziraphale turned round suddenly and looked at him with eyes wide open in surprise.

'Oh shit,' thought Crowley, as he watched the angel's expression change from surprise to wonder to a look very much like the one he used to possess when faced with the prospect of getting his soft hands on an exceptionally rare book. Crowley stood up quickly and found that his knees were too shaky to run at top speed, as he'd planned. He took one step back, tripped, and fell to his knees.

The water was refreshing, and there were many amazing little things to notice here. Aziraphale was having a splendid time, even if Crowley had made fun of his swimming costume. He liked it, and being covered up helped with avoiding sunburn. At least he wasn't on display in those ridiculously small swimming trunks the demon insisted upon wearing. Although, Aziraphale had to admit, he certainly was pleasant to look at in those. Crowley was pleasant to look at most of the time, but the almost complete view of his human body was even more pleasant. Something within him plucked like a harp string and the hot, vague feelings of want were back.

'What would it be like to run my hands all over Crowley's skin?' Aziraphale thought distractedly, and then blushed. What was coming over him? Was this... was this desire? Angels weren't supposed to desire. But then again Aziraphale figured he'd done so many things an angel wasn't supposed to do already; he might as well add one more thing to the list. Crowley certainly didn't need to know anything about this development. He'd tease Aziraphale for centuries.

Aziraphale was thankful he'd turned away from Crowley as these thoughts rushed through him. Crowley could see through him, he knew from experience. And this was something that should stay private.

As he looked at the rock cliff rising above him, trying to put aside such unexpected notions, he perceived something with which he was very familiar. A white, warm glow of love - deep, sincere love - was emanating from somewhere close. 'How odd,' he thought, moving through the water in the general direction of Crowley, 'I don't sense any people... Oh." This glorious sensation of love was coming from the demon.

'But how?' thought Aziraphale, before impulse took him over. He had never wanted to touch anyone or anything as much as he wanted to be in Crowley's arms right at this moment. He hurried towards him.

The angel advanced on him, and Crowley's heart began to hammer in his chest. He sighed as his human body became aware of what was happening. Sexuality was something he'd used in the line of duty whenever he had to, but it was never anything real, just a pleasurable perk. But this... this was a revelation. His skin felt too tight, and he was hot and cold all over, and he wanted nothing more than to touch smooth skin. Aziraphale's skin. It frightened him and filled him with ecstasy, all at the same time.

Aziraphale knelt down before him, his blue eyes gazing upon him with wonder and desire. He carefully took off Crowley's sunglasses and set them down on the ground beside them. "Oh Crowley, it explains so much," he said breathlessly.

"Nng," Crowley managed to utter. His brain wasn't relaying instructions very well. All he could process was the pounding of his heart and the nearness of the angel. Even the roar of the waterfall had been filtered away. 'Please don't make me say any words,' he pleaded silently, "I don't think my mouth can make them."

Aziraphale didn't need words. All he needed to know was that when he raised a hand to caress the side of Crowley's face, Crowley's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the angel's touch. Aziraphale could smell him, the warm smell of the incense from ancient temples in which they'd fought tooth and nail once upon a time. He smiled shakily, ready to step into uncharted waters. He knew he was experiencing desire, but it was but a new layer atop a deep well of love for Crowley. He knew all about love.

Time had slowed down. The only things that existed in the universe at that moment were the angel and the demon in the clearing.

Crowley opened his eyes and placed his hand upon Aziraphale's. Slowly he ran his hand down the length of Aziraphale's arm, savoring the sharp intakes of breath the touch evoked from the angel. With a decisive movement, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed his lips to Crowley's. They froze for a moment, settling into the sensation of this intimacy. Then with a moan, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist and pulled him into a tight embrace. Aziraphale's hands twined through Crowley's hair, relishing the strange, new feelings that were overcoming him.

They came up for air, both having forgotten they really didn't need to breathe.

"I love you, Crowley, you know that don't you?" said Aziraphale, panting and clinging to Crowley to keep from trembling.

Crowley nodded his head, his eyes shining brightly.

"And I... I want you," said Aziraphale, ducking his head. "And I don't know how... I mean, I know how humans... and there was that one time with the temple priestess, and it was nice but not really real, but I don't-"

"I'll sssshow you," said Crowley. He kissed Aziraphale again, his tongue parting the soft, pliant lips against his. He gently pulled the angel down to the blanket that had appeared on the ground with an impatient wave of his hand. On their sides, facing each other, Crowley stroked Aziraphale's hair and kissed down his neck. The angel's skin tasted like sunshine and water, and Crowley wanted to kiss every inch. "I'll show you everything," he whispered, flicking his tongue inside the angel's ear. He made a mental note to remember that sensitive spot upon hearing Aziraphale's shuddered gasp. Then Crowley pulled back to look into Aziraphale's eyes. "But you have to know, it's never been really real for me either. This is... with you... it's so very different."

Aziraphale beamed and pulled Crowley into another kiss. He was new to this, but he already knew he liked kissing very, very much. Crowley's arms held him gently but firmly, and Aziraphale made a quick gesture that removed their clothes. Skin to skin now, he snuggled in as closely as he could to Crowley's body. After a long, languid time of kissing and caressing, Crowley showed him with his hands and his lips a few of the touches he remembered best, leaving Aziraphale dizzy and limp and altogether blissful. He could see why most humans had allowed this act of passion to rule their lives.

After recovering his senses enough to put thoughts together, he opened his eyes to see Crowley watching him closely.

"Was it... Did you like it?" Crowley said in a raspy voice.

Aziraphale shook his head yes, smiling at the flash of relief that flickered over Crowley's face. He shifted so he could run his hands up and down Crowley's bare chest. It was as pleasing as he'd imagined. Human skin was a wondrous thing.

Now Aziraphale had the delightfully wicked idea that he'd like to see Crowley writhe beneath him in intense pleasure as embarrassingly as he had. And maybe even beg, just a little. He wasn't exactly sure how he would accomplish this, but he had a fairly good idea. He laughed with glee and began kissing his way down Crowley's body.

The days were much cooler now, rainy and grey most of the time. This turned out to be fine with Aziraphale and Crowley, since they rarely left their cottage, or the bed. Aziraphale was a quick and enthusiastic learner, and Crowley certainly didn't want to impede his quest for new knowledge. In fact, he was learning a thing or two himself. It was amazing what you could discover when you had two imaginative, intelligent beings working for the same goals. Crowley blushed at the thought of some of the things he'd done, most of which involved begging. It was a good thing he'd quit Hell; behavior like that would have gotten him kicked out on his arse. Or to be more accurate kicked somewhere sensitive several times very violently for a few centuries or so.

Crowley felt full to the brim with the worst sentimental, gooey emotions known to human, angel, or demonkind. He didn't care. He'd even said the three words he'd never even allowed himself to think several times. Once he'd said them loud enough to be almost audible.

Early on a drizzly morning, Crowley woke early with Aziraphale draped over him, sleeping peacefully. He twirled his fingers through the angel's silky, rumpled hair. He was content – a state he never imagined was so intoxicating and gratifying. But it was in quiet moments like this when he was the happiest that shadows of doubt crossed his thoughts. Had they really been allowed to escape, or was it just his dumb luck that got them here? What would they do if Above or Below caught up with them? Crowley was an optimist, and he truly believed that the universe would look out for him. But what if his luck ran out? Now that he had known this... this bliss that he and Aziraphale shared, he couldn't bare to be without it. He bent his head to press his cheek against his angel's hair.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a sudden cacophony of squawks and gurgles overhead. Crowley carefully untangled himself from Aziraphale's embrace and went to the window, wrapping himself in a black silk dressing gown. A large flock of birds descended onto the water of the lake. They resembled ducks, but for their bright green and white feathers and blue beaks.

Crowley laughed and hurried back to the bed. He sat down beside Aziraphale and gently shook his shoulder. "Aziraphale, wake up," he said. "I've something to show you."

"Mmm," Aziraphale mumbled and pulled the blankets over his head.

"Get up, you lazy waste of a corporeal form," said Crowley, snatching the blankets away.

"Really, dearest, that was uncalled for," said Aziraphale pouting, and snatching the blankets back.

"Come on, get up," said Crowley, shaking him.

Aziraphale smiled back, a mischievous gleam in his eye. He grabbed the lapels of Crowley's silk dressing gown and pulled him down into a kiss. "Must I get out of bed right this instance, or can it wait a little while?" he said innocently.

Crowley sank down into the warm, angel-scented blankets. "Maybe just a little while," he said, sliding his arms around Aziraphale.

"No, look, come on, or they'll be gone," insisted Crowley, bundling the protesting angel out the door. "We can have breakfast once I've shown you."

"What in Heaven's name has got you in such a hurry?" said Aziraphale, manifesting a croissant into his hand.

"A surprise," said Crowley. He grabbed Aziraphale's hand, leading him onto the beach. The birds were still there, some waddling about on the sand, some paddling in the water.

"Ducks? Crowley, are those ducks?" said Aziraphale with glee.

"I think they can be if we want them to be," said Crowley. He handed Aziraphale a bag of breadcrumbs. "Just like old times, eh?"

"Do you think they'll like bread crumbs?"

Crowley made a complicated gesture. "They will now."

They both began laughing, tossing the crumbs to the suddenly hungry birds. So wrapped up in each other and in the delight of feeding the duck-like creatures, they didn't notice the tall man walking towards them from far down the shore.

An explosion of agony and bewilderment erupted within Crowley's mind. He sank to the sand, gripping his head.

"Crowley? Crowley!" shouted Aziraphale, kneeling down to him. Then the Light and the Presence engulfed him. It permeated his being, and he felt his form change to his angelic body, his shirt ripping as his wings unfurled. His halo was shining brightly, and Crowley blinked at the glow. Aziraphale made him a pair of sunglasses and handed them to him without a word.

Crowley's eyes hurt, and he was sick and weak. 'Fuck,' he thought. It was over. Heaven had caught up with them. Aziraphale was holding him tightly, and Crowley managed to say, "Tell them I kidnapped you, and there was nothing you could do. You won't be punished." He was aware that his wings had unfurled as well, and he tried to shield himself with them.

The tall man was coming closer, walking at a steady pace. Aziraphale couldn't see the face of the entity. A white glow radiated from the man's body. It was almost too bright even for his angelic eyes. He closed them and held onto Crowley, his own wings meshing against the demon's. "It will be all right, dearest. I have to tell the truth. I'm not afraid." This wasn't exactly honest. Aziraphale was terrified. The Presence was an awesome and terrible thing, but every cell of his angelic form sang out to it.

Vertigo was forcing Crowley further against the sand, and his grasp on the angel was slipping. Aziraphale kept his arms around him, crouching over his prone form, sheltering him with his wings. Crowley heard the angel muttering words to him, but he couldn't understand them anymore.

Aziraphale looked up at the shining form. It was almost in front of them now. He didn't see anyone else, no Hosts, no Michael with his flaming sword. "My Lord," he whispered in awe. No matter what happened, he wouldn't abandon Crowley. He would Fall to be with him now. There was no going back.

THERE YOU ARE. I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU.

The voice inserted itself gently into his mind, but Crowley flinched and whimpered. Aziraphale couldn't make out the face of shape before him, but he had the distinct impression that there was a smile in the voice.

The embodiment of the Lord reached down with one hand and touched Crowley's forehead. ARISE, MY CHILD

Slowly, Crowley straightened from where he'd been huddled. He kept his arms twined in Aziraphale's, and he looked up from his knees in amazement. He felt the Presence within him for the first time since his Fall. He had no words.

Aziraphale knew, could feel the change, and he wondered why Crowley's eyes were still yellow.

YOU TWO ALWAYS HAD THE RIGHT IDEA –THE GREATEST OF THESE _IS_ LOVE, and they felt the sigh rather than heard it. AN INEFFABLE PLAN IS NOT NECESSARY INFALLIBLE.

Then the knowledge floated warmly and tenderly inside their heads, that if they wanted a job – on a purely freelance basis, of course – they had one here. And on this world there would be no vengeful wrath from on high, no Hell, no Armageddons, and no angelic or demonic bureaucracy. There would be suggestions to love one another and give glory to the Creator. Or to give into temptations, and deal with difficulties, for there can be no sweetness without bitterness, and a world without contrasts would be a dull one indeed. But the orders would come from one source this time, and He wasn't going to micromanage this time out.

The amazed angel and the baffled demon both shook their hands in agreement. The Lord laid a hand on their heads in blessing to seal the accord. The form turned and walked away tossing breadcrumbs to the birds as he went.

Aziraphale and Crowley turned to each other, staring in shock. Then they hugged each other tightly.

"I told you," said Aziraphale, his head nuzzling into Crowley's neck. "I told you it was all part of the ineffable plan."

Crowley kissed the angel's forehead and said, "And I told you that there was no Heaven or Hell anymore. So we were both right."

"How did we escape unscathed?" Aziraphale said.

"I don't know," said Crowley. "I guess it's ineffable. Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder where Aziraphale had hit him.

"That's my line, dear boy," he said. "Do you feel different? You don't look different."

"I feel different, but I can't explain how. Lighter. More certain." He tilted Aziraphale's face towards his and kissed him. "Loved."

"And do I still look-"

"Like a smug, yet adorable, angel? Of course you do."

"Come on," said Aziraphale, enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "Let's go find them."

Crowley laughed and changed both of their clothes into something more appropriate for an ethereal visitation. It wouldn't be bad to get back to work, especially if they could set their own hours. Being around people again would be nice. And if there was a supernatural influence early on to focus society around fine dining, love of books, and enjoying life's pleasures sooner rather than later, well, that wouldn't be a bad thing, would it?

The End


End file.
